


If

by Merfilly



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-21
Updated: 2007-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce watches her, and wants</p>
            </blockquote>





	If

He lets his tongue flick out to wet his lips. He's never quite sure if it's the stockings or the wig. Maybe it's the leather.

His hands tighten into fists as she places one foot up on the bench and rolls the stocking down, giving his eyes a hint of things to come yet. He leans back, easing the pressure the only way he can right now, still clad in armor. When that second stocking gets rolled down as slowly as the first, he barely notices the fact his breath picked up pace.

The wig falls to one side, a hand running through the sweat dampened lockes beneath it. He wishes he could be there to smell the scent of a woman who runs hard and keeps herself so fit. He can imagine just how her sweat must taste, if his tongue were to flick out and catch the droplet between her shoulder blades, right above the catches of her bustier.

She shifts, turning so that her back is to the hidden eyes upon her. Gracefully long fingers reach up behind her, undoing those hooks and eyes carefully, releasing pale skin from captivity. The marks the leather has left only incite his wish to run his tongue over each line, to ease their angry impressions on her skin.

As she steps out of the leather, he groans to see the high swell of those firm buttocks exposed. What it would feel like to press her close to his body, to let her slide against the armor, while his gloved hands explored her breasts, her arms holding her up against the wall…

The thought makes it acutely painful to still be armored, but he makes no move yet. She hasn't turned…ahh, there she goes. His eyes flicker from the lazy contentment on her features down, over the curve of those breasts he wishes he could nip and bite. Lower still, he traces the lines of her stomach, the slightest jut of a hip grown lean with the physical life she leads.

She stretches, hands up high, back arching, inviting his eyes to imagine how far she would bend for him if he were to hold her by her hips while he claimed her body as directly as he wished. Or would she arch even more to his mouth, to the feel of his breath and tongue parting her curls, burying in the musky scent of her folds?

Those hands come down, sliding first to her shoulders, then down, running over her breasts, her stomach, one continuing down over those dark curls…and his eyes go up, to her face when the hand slides away. That look in her eyes, the way she swiftly leaves the changing area for the showers; he can't help but wonder if maybe it's him she thinks of after a fight stirs her up. 

If she were his woman, he'd make sure he was all she could think of.

But then, if his mission had room for that, he wouldn't be the one merely watching.


End file.
